Lost and Found
by foldedapples
Summary: (SPOILERS) Boo and Rory, continuing from the end of The Madness Underneath, set out to find Stephen. (This is my first time writing something like this; for the love of God please be kind - not that you have to be, I'm just happy to be here *clutches Academy Award*. It's probably full of inaccuracies but I read The Name of the Star over a year ago and did zero research for this.)


Lost and found.

The earth grass beneath my feet was a slowly melting its way through the holes in my trainers. Boo was talking to the janitor about the jumper our brother had left in the dormitory, a red one with a white stripe around the collar. Lambs wool. Very expensive. Had he seen it? Could we take a look, just for a few minutes and then we'd leave right away. Gone before he'd even know we were there.

He seemed confused. Smart man. Teenage girls with brothers at Eton did not use bikes, in the rain, just to retrieve a jumper. They lived in a world where lost luggage was returned immediately, sometimes via chauffer. We didn't even have coats. Boo pushed her hair back, sending fat droplets flying from her now blood red fringe. She gave him her most charming, winning smile, but his head was still shaking. His eyes scrunched up against the rain.

I hugged my sodden cardigan further round my sodden body in a futile effort to retain heat. Hitch hiking had its advantages but stolen coats was not one of them. Of course, all the secret government money had been in the coats - it was probably the reason they were stolen – but that was another, less pressing problem. The rain drowned out all sound, even the splashing of the mud as I tapped my foot impatient to get in. The rain was really outdoing itself this time. A long breath pushed its way up and out through pursed lips. This was not good. This was our last chance. Now whilst they had all gone home for the holidays.

What was that like, I wondered. Home, holidays, friends and family. Sunshine. For once I wasn't all that interested. It was cold here, and as much as I hated that at least it felt appropriate. It felt almost good to be surrounded by something as foul as my mood. It gave me something to be angry about that didn't also make me feel incompetent or broken. I embraced it.

The janitor raised his hands in that, no really enough is enough, gesture people do when they're sick of humouring you. He wasn't going to let us in. Only the savviest janitors would do here, apparently. Boo made her way back across the gravel to the slightly covered spot of "grass" were the bikes and I leaned against the smallest oak tree possibly ever. To be honest, I wasn't sure whether it was actually sheltering us or just diverting more of the rain towards my head. "He says there's nothing he can do. School policy. We'd have to come back during term time, but I think he just said that to get rid of me."

"No chance at all?"

"None." Great.

"Did you get a good look at the locks?"

"Yeah, not a chance on the ground floor, heavy locks on the first. Not to mention the security system. The only way in, it seems, is through the second floor windows which are old and detached from the system."

"And is that…"

"It isn't going to happen Rory." No. We needed to get in there today. Every second spent out here was a second wasted and we'd wasted far too much time already. Boo was tiered, and I understood that, I was tiered too but we were doing this and we were doing it now. I just had to."There's got to be a drain pipe _somewhere_."

Boo sighed, exasperated. "Yes, Rory. But much like me, you, our shoes, this grass and that sky, it is wet - too wet to climb." She did that little frown smile I get to see a lot when I'm being difficult. She lent beside me against the tree and closed her eyes. Big eyes, with big dark marks beneith them to match. "He's probably in there." I said.

"Rory."

"It's been weeks now. If he's in there, he's been in there for what? Four, five weeks. Alone."

"Rory please-"

"We're so close."

"Rory" She turned to face me, frowning so that the worry line on her forehead seemed engraved permanently. A combination of me and these last few weeks. I had to look up. I had to keep breathing. Even though the rain was sore and my throat was closed. "Rory, you never told me why he might be here. It seems much less likely than all the other places we've looked. Rory, please, would you just tell me?" She tugged my sleeve and my gaze back to her. "Rory."

"I can't, alright? I really just can't. I promised I wouldn't tell anyone, and, and does it even matter? Really? I know he's in there! Just trust me on this one." It was hard to keep secrets from Boo and to see that mix of scepticism and doubt on her face, I wanted to tell her. I wanted to tell her everything. I wanted to ask her a million questions and I wanted her to tell me this wasn't my fault. That he hadn't just kissed me because of some fucking bump to the head.

But I couldn't.

The rain had eased off to a slow tapping, less a waterfall more a watering can. Boo gave my shoulder a slight squeeze. "Come on then." We marched over the gravel and round the back of the dormitory to a lacquer black pipe, secured to the wall by slender lacquer black fixings. "Take your shoes off." She held her hand out and bundled my shoes with her own, sticking them in the back of her jeans. "You'll go first - here…" Boo kneeled to give me a leg up and I soon had my wet hands and socked feet clamped around the fixings. "Now," she said "just go one fixing at a time, go slowly, keep at least one foot and one hand on the drain at all times, got it?"

"Yes. Got it." One foot up. One hand up. Other foot up. Other hand up. First foot up again… "Slowly I said!" Boo was still paused at the base of the pipe. "Right. Sorry." I said. "Just, take your time is all." She climbed onto the first fixing and gave me a little nod. Foot up. Hand up. Foot up. Hand up. Foot up. Hand up. Foot up. I reached the second floor. "Boo?"

"Wait for me, wait for me…" Boo was the one who normally opened windows, but we were both long past tiered by now and forgetting who was supposed to do what was becoming a feature. "Right, take this." She passed me up a long thin knife with a jet black handle. "Slide it under the wood until it sticks, do it as close to the lock as you can." The knife slid in easily, the wood was soaked through and splintered under the pressure. "Now turn it horizontally so that it points to the lock and push the handle down. Don't let go." The lock was a yellowed metal with a dark green crud creeping in at the corners. I pushed down on the handle with the palm of my hand and after the third try the window was open. It was stiff and screeched against the pressure as I pushed it upwards, but it did move and once it was open maybe forty centimetres I swung my bare foot over the ledge, followed by my left and right arms. My right leg fell through the window three seconds before Boo.

We hit the floor with creaking thuds and wide eyes. We held our breath but no reply came. Boo stood and pulled me to my feet. We were at the top of a painted wooden banister and stairs. Everything was an off shade of white except the carpet, which was a dark grey. Inside the rain was almost forgotten, drowned out by the inner silence. To be here now felt… disrespectful somehow.

I didn't know where the bathroom was. Maybe this was why 'Where is the toilet?' is considered the most useful phrase to learn when travelling abroad. "Which way?" Boo mouthed. "Bathroom." I whispered, clearing my throat half way. There was no need to keep silent, I hoped.

"Okay, good, um where exactly would that be then?"

"I don't know."

"Okay…." She edged forwards and peered down the hall, frowning she leaned over the banister and peered downwards instead. There was a faint echo of dripping as her hair swung forwards. I looked about and everything really was white; a sanatorium without the attempt to welcome. The only real sign of life were the grey rectangles the indicated the presence of those framed pictures sometimes hung from chains. "Stay close to me, the bathroom is probably on the bottom floor…" We linked arms and tip-toed slowly down one, two, three flights of stairs, dripping all the way. With each step we took drips fit the floor with dull thuds, rhythmic yet about as far from musical as possible. As we descended a new drip collaborated with our own set, tuneful in its own high monotonous way, like the excess that falls from the stalactite into some unknowably deep subterranean lake.

What met us was another white door, bronze plaque reading 'Senior Bathroom' in bold font. This was it. We stepped forward together. Our own drop-drop-drop, low against the drip-drip-drip from within. Her hand was almost on the handle when she paused and took my hand in hers; we were doing this together. Again we edged our hands closer, so close I could feel the cold radiating off the doorknob. My heart was in my mouth. We grasped the handle. I couldn't breathe. We pushed and the door swung open.

The bathroom was painted white like the rest of the building, but it was still darker. Dark as if filled with coal soot so that light from outside was simply absorbed. Dark, and smelling like flowers. Sickly like caraway.

I almost screamed when I saw it.

"Ste- Stephen?" Boo croaked.

"Who?" it replied.

…


End file.
